


The Ballad of Plastic Annie

by mellonbread



Category: Brigador (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybernetics, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-10-27 21:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17774684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellonbread/pseuds/mellonbread
Summary: Canmore mechanic put her kevlar on wrongI guarantee she'll meet up with a suicide bomb





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tʜᴇ APPEAL OF NOBRESPLOITATION ɪs ᴇᴀsʏ ᴛᴏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ
> 
> Tʜᴇ SHARED EXPERIENCE OF ECUMENICAL MANDATORY MILITARY SERVICE ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʟs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ SENSE OF ALIENATION ᴀɴᴅ SOCIAL ATOMIZATION
> 
> Tʜᴇ POSSIBILITY OF RANDOM AND ANARCHIC VIOLENCE ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇs ᴛʜᴇ FRUSTRATION WITH LIFE ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ FANTASY OF REBELLION
> 
> Tʜᴇ PROMOTION OF GAMBLING, PROSTITUTION AND FIREARMS OWNERSHIP ᴀs ᴀ POLICY OF THE CENTRAL GOVERNMENT ɪs ᴀ TITILLATING ALTERNATIVE VISION OF SOCIAL ORGANIZATION
> 
> Cʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏꜰ NOBRESPLOITATION ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, USUALLY WITHOUT CONSCIOUSLY CHOOSING TO DO SO. Tʜᴇsᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ɪɴᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀᴛʏ WITHOUT DETAILED KNOWLEDGE OF SOLO NOBRE ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ BASIC ELEMENTS PRESENTED IN EXISTING SNC MEDIA/PRESS MATERIALS
> 
> -Dʀ Pɪᴛᴇʀ Aᴛᴀᴛᴜʀᴋ, SNC Mᴀʀᴋᴇᴛɪɴɢ Dɪᴠɪsɪᴏɴ

Corporal Anne Tsushima was happy, in spite of the utter misery that was the Canmore’s crew compartment. She was happy because this would be one of her last patrols. Their unit was next in line for a full interface upgrade. The Canmore would get a jack input and a single pilot would be able to do the work of four, and that pilot wouldn’t be her. She’d tag along on the occasional sweep, but spend the rest of her tour in the motor pool - adjusting track tension, hammering bent top-covers back into shape, and shouting at the new conscripts not to smoke near the air intakes.

Simon scanned the street from the nametag defilade of the commander’s hatch, peering over the gunshield of the twenty mill. Seated in the turret basket, Renaldo kept his eyes on his gunner’s periscope, as though his seven barrels of 30mm DUAP would be able to hit a VBIED in the narrow city street. Officially, Anne was the “loader”. Since that role was performed by a machine, her real job was an extra pair of hands and eyes. That meant it was her job to squirm out the hatch and over the side, climbing a full story down onto the macadam to assess the problem that had brought the heavy tank to a screeching halt.

The left track was thrown, apparently objecting to the temerity of the driver, who had foolishly tried to drive the ageing vehicle across a patch of perfectly flat ground. At least it would be easy enough to fix in-situ, rather than waiting in the middle of the street for a tow. Not that this was the ideal spot for repairs. 

Anne shouted at Simon to boot Lenny out of the driver seat, so he could help her get the track back onto the bogey. Simon continued yelling at the civs, oblivious. Traffic was busy and the passing cars weren’t keeping the requisite 5 meters away from the vehicle as they weaved around it. Anne sighed and walked around the front to bang on the hatch manually.

Above her, Simon yelled and fired the twenty mill at something. Anne dove to the ground as the air around her lit up with light and sound. She fumbled to pop the dust cover on the sub gun slung at her chest. Something passed through her body like a wave, bringing with it a rush of air and a feeling like shattering glass.

She blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

About a year later, Bo Bextiyar stomped across the floor of the Corvid hangar, spare parts (all of his parts were spare) clanking and wheezing. His ride, _Bear Naked Lady_ stood resplendent in teal and aquamarine, splashed with a cartoon caricature of an amphicyonid tugging the underwear off a surprised lady beachgoer. It was hacked from the chassis of a semi truck, mounted to a salvaged NEP heavy leg unit. Twin rocket pods bristled from its hardpoints like paper wasp nests. A couple of technicians in coveralls were levering off one of the side skirts, partially melted by a stray flash of Loyalist laser fire during his last joyride.

The old Cephaloid was mounted to a rube goldberg device of moving parts that he had built himself. His head rotated like an owl’s to regard the pair of idiots who had earned his displeasure. His face was lined but his eyes were a perfect clear brown, his hair as black as the day they severed him at the neck and mated him to a machine - a machine that he had since outlived, as he had its successor, and the one after that. A patchwork man, Ship of Theseus whose figurehead alone remained the same.

“The two of you are owing me a debt. The Skates you junked don’t come cheap and I am being generous, so let’s talk about repaying me.” He mangled the grammar of the new tongue, accustomed as he was to forms of speech that died with the first settlers. Or was it the beginnings of senescence - his ancient brain the one part he couldn’t replace?

The two idiots - Rob and Guillermo, regarded him blankly. One of them had the presence of mind to nod.

In a strange mirror of his mech, the legs that carried his clockwork and diesel torso were salvaged from a junked powersuit, and it was these legs that were the object at issue.

“I am walking on these legs and wishing I had something light, like a dancer’s legs. Light, flexible, but strong. You’re getting me something like that, and your debt goes away.”

Bextiyar’s servos whirred and he took a step toward them. One stepped back, the other held his ground.

“You have until Nara’s day, after that I’m sending you out in vests, which I don’t care so much if you bring back in one piece.” Bo grinned, wrinkling his eyes. “Which you won’t, because they’ll be exploding.”

The head swiveled, instructions and threat delivered, interest suddenly lost. The pair were left to escort themselves out of the shop.

 

* * *

 

At the bar, the two geniuses weighed their options over a bottle of rank, almost fleshy tasting liquor.

“Where the fuck are we supposed to get military grade prosthetics?”

“Weren’t you paying attention? Dancer’s legs - like an actual dancer. Down at the Tip.”

“What?”

“You know, Plastic Annie”

“No way,” Rob squinted, “you’re not talking about…”

“She’s not union, nobody’s going to come after us.”

“It’s not about anyone coming after us, man. It’s about… I don’t like it”

“Do you like spending the rest of your life on the run from a brain damaged cyborg head?” Guillermo poured himself another finger of cachaca. “Do you look forward to wearing a bomb vest for the rest of your mercifully brief existence?”

 

* * *

 

Plastic Annie exited the backroom of the club in modest clothing and normal shoes, discarding her sweaty unmentionables and fuck-me pumps in the laundry basket on the way out. Her shoulders ached, her forearms felt like jelly and her back was killing her, but her legs felt as sturdy as ever, for as much feeling as she ever had in them. In some ways, transiting a greased pole for hours on end was easier with a pair of cybernetic legs. And there was always the novelty crowd, fetishists and other assorted perverts who paid top dollar to see meat and machine joined together at the thigh. This brisk trade had let her make rent these last few months without yet taking the plunge from dancing to hooking. A plunge the older hands at the _Tip of the Tail_ assured her she would take one night, when money was tight and the offered price was agreeable.

Stepping out into the humid, neon soaked street, Plastic Annie swore and pulled her transparent rain slicker tight. It was raining hard and the patrol she had counted on walking home with was already long gone. She could go it alone and _probably_ be okay, Lannois wasn’t _quite_ as nasty as people gave it credit for. But she’d just heard that horror story from Janni, and she was kind of hungry, and she’d got a couple of sizeable tips that took the sting out of eating out tonight. At least until the next section came through.

Annie walked the two doors down to the _Nobre Noodle_ , knees and ankles whirring and spitting rain out of their joints.

 

* * *

 

From a bus shelter down the road, the Metal Fetishist watched Plastic Annie enter the noodle store. His jack itched and he passed a hand over the back of his head, to ensure the dust cover was secured against the rain. He was saving up for his first surgery and he couldn’t decide which part to replace first. He wanted to ask Plastic Annie but had never spoken to her before. He had watched her from across the bar, once, the dull red light concealing his face. From that far away, with that much vodka in his body, he could barely see her through the poor lighting, haze of cigarette smoke and his own blurred vision, but it was a memory he still masturbated to even today. He suppressed that thought now, worried that his gait would be impaired if he had to run.

 

* * *

 

Behind the counter of his _Live Nude Guns_ franchise, Cheech Bergstroem grinned and counted, again, the sheaf of Great Leaders his latest pair of customers had bequeathed to him. The two geniuses had massively overpaid for a couple hot push-pistols he’d been looking to unload anyway. He hadn’t lied to them, not exactly, about what they were purchasing. They’d been desperate enough that he hadn’t needed to lay it on thick anyway.

 

* * *

 

From beneath an awning over a closed bodega down the road, the two geniuses watched Plastic Annie exit the noodle store. They were neither of them experienced pistol shooters and had declined the tiny holsters offered with the tiny pistols. The little guns weighed down their coat pockets instead, and swung noticeably as they walked, giving them a gait that instantly marked them as armed. Not that either of them noticed.

They also didn’t notice the guy across the street, who was, like them, following Plastic Annie as she walked home. They were aided by the rain, which masked the sound of their footfalls, and impaired by it, which also masked the sound of his. Annie was already slightly paranoid about the sound of her legs, which she worried announced her presence and masked the sound of anyone following her. It was a minor fear she worked hard to suppress, but today it was correct. She crossed the street, and both the pervert and the assassins delayed, unsure if they should hurry across now and risk discovery, or wait for the next walk cycle and risk losing her in the sweaty Lanois night.


	3. Chapter 3

After a bowl of feijoada ramen and a beer, Anne “Plastic Annie” Tsushima was feeling a little better about walking home alone. The chef at the _Nobre Noodle_ had informed her that the patrol she was waiting for had been tied up assisting the local police. The cops had run into a spot of trouble with a cadre of drug pushers, who had fumbled the usual exchange of bribes for clemency.

Plastic Annie was worried that the foot pads on her legs were wearing out, dreading another encounter with the veteran’s medical apparatus. Not because of the technician. The cyberneticist was a small, red haired man, a former medic. Paranoid, greatly loved by his patients, and relentlessly drawn into the orbit of people who hit him - including both his man and his beard. But Annie would need to beg off work for an appointment to prove that the foot pads were wearing out, then the appointment would get cancelled because Lem’s ten other appointments that day would run long. Then she’d have to put off another shift when it happened again, then she’d have to eat instant noodles for a week because she was a week poorer than expected, then she’d finally cave and end up blowing some sicko in the bathroom of the Tip to make rent, then-

Plastic Annie caught herself catastrophizing and firmly resolved to set up the appointment the following morning.

 

* * *

 

The Corvids and the metal fetishist had not noticed each other, but all three realized they had a problem. Their target was about to enter her apartment, which meant she would pass behind a door and be occluded from view. It was a post-corporate model, one of the habitation blocks thrown down by the NEP housing plan. There would be no front desk to inquire at and none of them knew which unit Annie lived in. Following at a comfortable distance, they would not see which she entered once inside. Following close enough to observe, they could be spotted.

The two men were there to steal Annie’s legs. They planned to do the deed by breaking into her apartment and subduing her, then removing them and stuffing them into a duffel bag they carried. They had not thought very carefully about their plan.

The pervert was there to have sex with Annie. He had thought about how to achieve this goal even less than the pair of bio-pirates had about theirs. He only knew that tonight was the day he had to try.

Both parties attempted to enter the apartment at the same time. Each assumed the other was a legitimate resident of the apartment, and mentally prepared to offer some excuse for their presence. Neither demanded one. The fetishist awkwardly held the door open for Rob and Guillermo, who sidled by with a grudging “thank you” and hurried up the stairs with more speed than was inconspicuous.

 

* * *

 

From his place of concealment in the stairwell, the metal fetishist watched the two men go up to Annie’s door. He realized they were there for the same reason as he was. There were two of them and they had upstreamed him to pay her for sex. This revelation filled him with vague humiliation, but also a rush of relief. There was no need to obsess over buying drinks and making conversation, just a question of an agreed on price and who to dispatch payment to. He would come back another night and-

One of the men pulled a gun from his raincoat. They weren’t there for the same reason at all.

 

* * *

 

Annie sat on the edge of the bathtub and undid her legs. They were waterproof but she preferred to bathe without them, and Lem had warned her from the day they were installed that the stump where plastic and metal met flesh needed regular scrubbing. And it gave her a childish thrill at fitting all the way in the tub, without the need to bend her knees or sit upright. She could make the most of her hot water ration, and give her aching back, screaming arms and sore ass a fraction of the rest they deserved. Neuroprosthesis temporarily amputated, she sank into the hot water until it covered her ears. Within a few minutes she was almost asleep.

The sound of the front door splintering woke her up in a hurry.

 

* * *

 

Guillermo and Rob burst into the apartment, stumbling and brandishing their tiny pistols in wild room clearing motions. They swept (a generous term for the way they moved) the living room and attached kitchen, peeked into the bedroom, and kicked in the bathroom door.

The woman inside was naked, soaking wet and fumbling to put her legs on. She froze, perched on the edge of the bathtub, two guns arresting her movement. Thinking not-so-quickly, Rob stepped forward and shoved her, sending her back into the water with a splash. He tried to pick up the legs, almost slipped on the wet floor, caught himself on the edge of the tub with his gun hand, fired a round into the shower tile just over Annie’s head. She screamed but nobody could hear it - even the small round was deafening in the windowless bathroom. Rob scrambled to stand, realized he’d need both arms to shift the legs. Clumsily holstered his gun. Guillermo was yelling something, pointing the gun at Annie. Rob tried to tell him they were done, they needed to get out, there wasn’t any need for that. Guillermo gathered the cojones necessary to pull the trigger.

The metal fetishist hit him in the head with a lamp.

Rob turned, saw them grappling. Dropped the legs and reached for his gun. One of the heavy prosthesis landed on his foot, crushing a toe. He yelled and almost fell again. Caught an elbow to the face - the bathroom wasn’t big enough for three. Took a fist to the back of his kidney, shoved Annie off him. Fired at the interloper. Hit Guillermo twice in the back, perforating heart and lungs. A jet of scalding hot water out of nowhere induced him to drop his weapon again, pushing past the interloper in a blind panic to get away from the burning stream.

 

* * *

 

Plastic Annie sat legless and naked in the tub, shaking violently, holding the shower attachment hard enough to bruise her hands. The fetishist let the dead man slump to the floor, stunned. His ears were roaring and he had an erection. He picked up Rob’s pistol off the floor, not even thinking about what he was doing. Annie pointed the showerhead at him. He pointed the gun at her, instinctively.

He had an idea.

He didn’t want her like this.

“Put your legs on”

“What?”

“Put them on. Here”

He crouched, pushed the objects of his affections toward the object of his affections. There was about a half inch of water on the floor, intermingling with Guillermo’s blood. Annie cautiously pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the tub, again, not wanting to fall, again.

She flicked the dust covers on her interface ports open, operating completely on autopilot. Her fingers were numb, like she had too much blood in them. It would take a moment for the servos to run through their self test, configure themselves, before she could stand. He stared like he wanted to eat her. He was still holding the pistol.

“Listen, I- thanks for coming in, when you did, but-”

“I’ll pay for it”

“...Pay for what?”

He had an erection.

“No, no I don’t do that, I just-”

The pervert pointed the gun at her again. The too-much-blood feeling went from her hands to her throat and she couldn’t speak. Her legs came alive and she didn’t notice, sweating violently under the sheen of water coating her skin. There was another gun on the bathroom floor somewhere, the other guy came in with it. No way to pick it up, though. Gunshots alone weren’t rare enough in Lannois to instantly draw law enforcement’s attention. And if they were, the cops wouldn’t be there in time.

“200. In real bills, no bird scrip.”

He goggled. He wasn’t expecting it to work. He didn’t know what to do next. She took his silence as a demand for a six chamber discount.

“Okay, 50. But lemme get a rubber from my purse, yeah?”

He stared for a second. Nodded. She stood. She looked so fucking good with her legs on that he almost shot her accidentally. Annie dried herself. Stepped over the dead guy, trying very hard not to think about it. He walked behind her, wanting her to want him to touch her feet. This wasn’t like anything he’d ever imagined doing with her, but it was different. It was _real_. She picked up her bag off the kitchenette table, perfect body still dripping water.

Annie shot from inside her purse, sending torn liner and polyester billowing with the muzzle flash. The flap of the bag caught in the slide on the third round and jammed the pistol and she ran, not looking to see if she hit, plastic foot pads skidding. She ran into the hall, bowling Rob over. He shouted something, tried to stand and limp after her, but she was already down the stairs before he got to his feet.

 

* * *

 

Dave, Ilsa and Bermudez squinted into the rain, which their ponchos kept off their shirts by dumping onto their legs instead. The dispute between law enforcement and the dust peddlers had been resolved bloodlessly. The trio laughed at a vulgar limerick, unsure if they were relieved or disappointed that nobody had gotten to fire a shot. Just another uneventful patrol.

Ilsa signaled with a hand, pointed up ahead. The laughter stopped.

A civilian approaching them at speed would normally warrant shouts to halt and the frantic unslinging of their 18s, for fear of explosive payloads carried beneath clothes. But the woman running toward them wasn’t wearing any, and they recognized her anyway.

They’d know those legs anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Plastic Annie's Canmore is armed with a Konig 30mm autocannon, Belter 20mm autocannon, and Smoke Grenades.
> 
> Use the Belter to pick off weak enemies and the Konig on tougher ones. When facing multiple foes, and you will if you ever fire the main gun, lay down a smoke screen, point your cursor at the swarm and pin both mouse buttons


End file.
